Twisted Symphony
by May Lily
Summary: How could something so wrong be so right? Sam/Freddie - Seddie. Oneshot.


_This is the longest oneshot I've ever written -- it's also one that I just wrote on the spot, I had no plot in mind, it just all came out for me. This is also the first iCarly I've ever written, the first seddie (one of the best couples EVER), and so... don't go too hard on me. :D I'm not sure if I even want to publish it, but I'm doing it anyway. Enjoy, review, all that good stuff._

_Happy Early Thanksgiving, everyone. (:_

_Love, May._

_**Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, or any of the characters in it.**_

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**_**Twisted Symphony  
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You knew it was going to happen sooner or later, you just didn't expect it to happen so soon. He'd always been the nicest out of you three, and you knew him better then you knew anybody. You could read him like a book (he had never liked you more then a friend, you supposed). You also knew her more then anybody else knew her. You know everything from her favorite color (which was green) to how she liked her eggs prepared (scrambled). You saw it coming from the very beginning, but one thing that made you question your own sanity, the one thing that made you wonder was that, why hadn't you stopped it from happening? You surely could've inhibited it in someway, right? It was a complicated answer, but it all came down to this. You knew that you just couldn't bring yourself to sabotage their perfect, inevitable relationship. They were your best friends after all.

He had always had a huge crush on her. Everybody knew it, even she knew it. It wasn't surprising to you, I mean, who wouldn't like her? She was the perfect little angel, pretty (and weak), got good grades, dressed in pretty little skirts -- your polar opposite that somehow understood you (that settled her apart from your twin sister, Melanie). You had always realized that his love for her was undying and he was always going to be there for her; he always was. Just like he was there for you when you thought nobody else was. He was an easy boy to fall for. Sweet, kind, smart, cute, sympathetic, understanding, the whole package that any girl would enjoy (including you, but you would never tell him that). You liked to tease him about how a girl would never want to date him and how kissing him would make a girl puke (regardless of the fact that you had once kissed him yourself, and it was actually a quite enjoyable experience). You had fallen for him, a desperate unrequited love that burned inside of you. The only hope and chance you had was the hopeless idea that maybe she wouldn't fall for him (as hard as you did), but you knew that it was impossible. He was always going to be there, he was always going to love her, and he would always wait for her.

You had prepared yourself for the moment to play out -- you told yourself you wouldn't let it hurt you, because you were expecting it. But walking in on their close embrace, you couldn't describe how much pain pulsed through your body at the time, because the thing you had expected from the very beginning had happened.

She had her head on his shoulders, his arms were tightly around her -- she was crying. He was rocking her back and forth (and you couldn't help but remember the time that he did that for you once), his arms warmth and protection around her, shielding her from the cruelty of the world. You were a mess when you walked in on them, drenching wet from the storm, shivering from the cold. They didn't seem to notice that you picked your way into the Shays' apartment building, they didn't make a notion that they saw you.

After spotting them, you quickly hid so you could hear their every word, but they couldn't see you.

"It's okay, Carly, he's just another guy, he's not worth it." He mumbled, his nose in her hair, comfortingly holding her. It hit you what had happened, you could tell by the tone of his voice, and the intensity of her cries (you knew them _so_ well, it surprised even yourself sometimes). Carly's boyfriend, Donald, had provoked her in some way or another. It hurt you that you, Carly's best friend, hadn't been the first one she told.

"B-but, I _loved_ him, Freddie." Carly struggled to say, her sobs constricting her. Freddie tightened his grip on her.

"I know you did, Carls." He said reassuringly, stroking her hair with one of his hands. You jealously looked at her, wishing that it was you that was in his arms (even though you pitied her for losing her one-year-boyfriend). "But if he isn't good to you, then what's the point of weeping over it?"

"Because I'm not good enough for him," she complained, wiping her eyes, and getting his shirt all wet. You scoffed at this comment, knowing fully well that Carly was the kind of girl every guy deserved (and you bitterly thought that you were the one she was referring to). "Chloe, she's _pretty_." Carly spat out the word indifferently.

"And you aren't?" He asked, looking at her with his concerned, protective, brown eyes.

Carly rolled her eyes. "No," she muttered. "I'm just _plain, old_ Carly Shay."

He looked shocked at this comment (you rolled your eyes, seeing as he was in love with her, of _course_ he'd protest to this). "You are _not._" He exclaimed, clearly furious at the idea. "What on earth gave you that idea?"

Carly met his gaze, brown eyes meeting brown eyes (like a perfect little poem, you thought), and she cleared her throat as if the next thing she said was of importance. "Myself. And every single boy who has broken my heart and teased me an--"

She was cut off by Freddie's hand, clamped over her mouth. She muffled into his hand. "Carly, you are a _beautiful, smart, loyal_ woman, and it drives me completely insane that you would think otherwise, or any other godforsaken person would driven you to think so. You are my best friend, my neighbor, Carly, and I know you very well and almost as well as Sam knows you, so if you don't take my word for it, you might as well not take anyone's word."

You couldn't help but think that it was just like Freddork to be such a sap. You laughed lightly to yourself at the thought, but there was a tight constricting in your heart that was ultimately very painful combined with a slight pleasure that he had said your named (even though in context, it wasn't really that amazing that he had). You grasped the back of the couch that you were hiding behind hard, trying to keep quiet so you were not spotted. You bit your lip as you saw Carly weep even more (you quickly shoved away the thought of her being a drama queen away from your mind). You saw Fredward kiss her forehead in a light, comforting manner (he was always a knight in shining armour, after all), and you prepared yourself for what was going to happen next (even you didn't know what they were going to say).

"Freddie," Carly started, taking in a deep breath. "I--you-- thanks, Freddie."

Freddie chuckled, a low deep chuckle (and damn, his voice has gotten really deep throughout the years), and mumbled back, "You're welcome, Carls."

And then it came, the final straw, the last thing that would crush you, a simple phrase of three words. She had said it so softly, you hardly realized that it had come. She had taken in one brief breath, and said it while breathing outwards, the words sounding musical and perfect -- and oh-so-wonderful (the way it always should be said) from her perfectly glossed lips (which had somehow managed to stay perfectly applied throughout her crying). It seemed hesitant, her words, but when she said it, Freddie's face lit up in a way that made you yearn for him, oh and how you yearned to make him just as happy, if not more. The deathly words were in fact, "I love you."

He didn't jump in the air as you would expect, he didn't laugh or ask if it was a joke. He didn't overreact, nor did he get down on one knee. He simply smiled, a light smile, with an incomprehensible look on his face (like something was accomplished) that dashed his features. You didn't know it then, but he was indulged with passion, but he returned the gesture. It was light, it was almost demeaning the way he said it, but he mumbled it (and it didn't sound like the way he had said it when he was eleven, twelve, or thirteen). "I love you too."

It was such a perfect fairytale moment and at that point you realized that you never had a chance with him, and that you were always going to be the third wheel in their relationship. Agony tore through you, a feeling that ran through you head to toe, and you shut your eyes, trying to repress the pain (although you had failed quite frankly). In that single moment, you tore past your hiding spot (not caring whether the couple saw you or not), grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

Your hair was still damp from the rain, and the storm was going on, and you were still freezing cold, but none of that occurred to you then. All that mattered to you was that you needed to get out of there -- you couldn't stand the sight of it. You pushed the door open and ran out, and right before it shut, you met his eyes -- brown to blue (like a twisted symphony), his confused and naive like a little boys, and yours desperate and broken (trying hard to look intact).

---

That night, you managed to climb up the many fire escapes until you reached _his_. It was a tiring job, climbing up the many steps and crooked ladders (that were slippery from the downpour), but you told yourself it was worth it (you didn't want to run into his mom if you knocked on the front door), you just wanted to see him, to talk to him. Your hands and feet finally reached your destination and a feeling of warm familiarity ran through you. Everything looked the same since when you had last been there (_three_ years ago), the same cool essence, the busy Seattle below, the stereo system, the lawn chair (and you couldn't help but remember this was the place you had your first kiss with _him_). It was oddly romantic, awkward, filled with unsaid/unknown feelings.

You quietly pushed the screen door open, slipping into the hallway that led into his room. You stealthily slipped through his door -- he was at his table, tiredly looking upon his laptop, typing on a word document. He rubbed his eyes and noticed you come in, looking up startled (in a slow way), but smiled when he realized it was you. "Sam." He acknowledged you, nodding at your presence. Your hair was tangled and unruly, your eyes tired, and the outer layer of your clothes (you wore many layers) smelled lightly of asphalt and dirt.

"Fredward." You greeted, yawning as the name escaped your mouth. Freddie quickly shut off his laptop, putting it in his super-techy-laptop case. He stood up, facing you (although much taller).

He ran his hands through his messy hair. "What are you doing here?" He asked, politely, walking towards you.

"I don't want to be at home." You started to explain, wearily. You brushed some stray hair out of your face, sighing lightly. You took a deep breath, trying to say more, and it was surprisingly taking a lot of effort. "Home is too -- it's not home. It's too loud, mom's always drunk, and her boyfriends, they... they're always _there_. And I feel like a wreck today."

"Why don't you go to Carly's?" Freddie questioned, ignoring what both of you did not want to talk about at the time. You raised your eyebrow at him.

"You and I both know why."

Carly was in post-breakup mode which contained a very high-strung teenager that would probably scream at you at every word you said. It wasn't that she was a bad person, it was just that... not many people wanted to be around her during her girlish temper fits. Even Spencer took excuses to go places (like falling asleep on a bus to Vancouver). Besides, in a matter of a few days, she would calm down to be the bubbly, nice, girly Carly she always was.

"Well," Freddie started, scratching the back of his head in a boyish manner. "You're welcome to stay here, but I doubt you'd want to of all places."

"Please," You said. "I need some place but home, nub, but I'm desperate enough to stay here."

Freddie grinned. "Well, by all means, make yourself at home."

You scoffed. "Like that'll ever happen."

He shrugged, and you began to set up a little bed on the carpet floor. You folded a couple of his extra blankets and put some pillows on the floor -- you couldn't help but realize that it smelled distinctly of him (which was an amazing smell, you admit). He watched as you did this, a skeptical thinking look on his face. You began peeling off the top layers of your clothes when Freddie stopped you.

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing?" He cautioned quietly, grabbing ýour wrist to restrain you from taking off your clothes.

"Don't get your boy panties in a bunch, Benson, I don't sleep naked." You defended, clearly amused at Freddie's gentleman-like disposition. He rolled his eyes and let go of your wrist as you stripped yourself of your extra clothes until you were only in your tanktop and boyshorts. You yawned, not noticing as Freddie examined your outfit. He raised his eyebrows, and turned around to get into his bed. He looked at you, noticing that you were laying uncomfortably on the ground (although you probably would've never told him), and bit his lip, wondering how to propose the idea.

"Sam..." He started, staring at you. You rolled around to face up, tiredly.

"What do you want, Benson?"

Freddie sighed, and took the risk of getting hurt for offering you, "I have some room here, do you want to sleep on the other half of the bed?"

You looked unsure at first, "Look, Freddork, I--"

"It's not like I'm going to do anything, Sam." Freddie reassured you, looking at you with his warm chocolate brown eyes. "You know that."

And you did know that, you were a little uncomfortable on the ground (but it wasn't the worst sleeping place you had been in, had you?) and the space on his bed seemed welcoming enough. "I don't know, Benson."

"Sam, must you make things so difficult?" Freddie questioned, wrinkling his eyebrows together annoyingly.

You smiled. "That's my job." You said, getting up from the floor and picking up a pillow from the ground. You walked the short distance between you and the bed and he scooted over a little to make room for you, you slipped under the covers next to him, closing your eyes and finally realizing how overly tired you were. With a sudden spurt of confidence, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his nose to your hair so he could smell the sweet strawberry shampoo and so you could smell his wonderful scent, a mix of smells that you couldn't describe that gave you ultimate pleasure. Normally, you would've smacked him or broken his arm for his boldness, but that night you were just too tired, and it felt too good that you let him hold you like that all night.

"This is our little secret." You mumbled as you both drifted to sleep.

---

When you woke up the next morning, he was still wrapped around you, his eyes were still closed and solemn. The warmth of your bodies together felt so nice, that you didn't want to move for a while. You stirred a little though, the slightest movement waking him up. His brown eyes opened slowly, not letting go of his grasp on you.

"Good morning, Sam." Freddie murmured to you, his voice so beautiful and musical it took your breath away.

You sighed in content. "Good morning, nub." To both of your dismay, you began to get up. "I have to get ready, I'll see you later."

You were in no rush of leaving, it _was_ a Saturday, and you had all the time in the world (or the weekend). He watched you cover yourself up (you were so exposed to him last night, and he didn't make one move) with unnecessary layers of different clothes (that still looked good together) and your trousers (old and dirty). You ruffled your bedhead hair and quickly slipped out the door cautiously, watching out for Freddie's mom. Once you left, Freddie instantly missed you, your smell still lingering in his room.

After slipping on a pair of fresh clean clothes, brushing your hair (which was still unruly), your teeth, and treating all your feminine, human needs, you headed back to Bushwell Plaza, and after getting yelled at by Lewbert (apparently, he holds grudges for people who try to set him up with his lost love) up to Carly's apartment building. You hesitantly opened the door into the room, your heart still hurting from what had happened yesterday -- you still had to talk to them about it anyway.

You walked into a strangely put-together Carly sat at the kitchen table, eating. It surprised you, because after a serious breakup, Carly _never_ ate unless forced, and Carly was always crying on the couch with tissues and germs overwhelming everywhere. She was sitting there, absolutely fine, just chewing on some pancakes that Spencer had made.

"Hey, Sam." Spencer greeted you, you said hi back and headed to take a seat across from Carly.

"How're you faring?" You asked Carly once you sat down, she smiled at you -- which surprised you immensely. She shrugged and began to chew her pancake faster so she could answer my question (she never talked with her mouth full unless it was absolutely necessary or just to be silly). You watched her swallow and open her mouth to speak.

"I'm actually doing pretty good." She admitted, a faraway look in her eyes.

You smiled, happy for her. "That's good." You approved. "What caused this sudden change?" You asked nonchalantly -- you had already known, but you wanted to see if she would actually tell her (you were supposed to tell each other _everything_).

You began drinking a glass of orange juice that was there for you on the table. She sighed happily, a sparkle in her eyes as she muttered, "Let's just say, _Prince Charming_ has come to save me." You did a spittake just as Freddie walked into the room.

"Sam, you shouldn't do that, it's not ladylike." Freddie teased, smirking. You rolled your eyes at him, and at that moment you realized that nothing had changed (not that you hoped that something had changed).

"Freddie!" Carly squealed, running over and wrapping her arms around him -- nearly knocking him over. You raised your eyebrows at this, a pang of hurt hitting at your chest that you dared not show. Freddie didn't meet your gaze, instead looking down.

"Hey, Carly." He said, slightly appalled and hugging her back a little. "You seem to be feeling better."

"Yes!" She exclaimed excitedly, "it's all thanks to you!"

You noticed they were such a _damn perfect couple_, and that it would soon be him and her, and _you_ wouldn't fit in their perfect little world. You had been arrested several times, you were wild and crazy, you said inappropriate things, and weren't _ladylike_. You got horrible grades and _he_ wanted _her_ and not you. _She_ got good grades. _She_ was everything you weren't. She was your best friend, and she was the best friend anybody could ever have, but sometimes _you_ just were way too jealous of her and wanted sometimes to _be her_, because _she_ got all the guys, and _you_ didn't.

You watched them, talk, and laugh, and be sweet to each other, and it made you sick, it made you sick to your stomach, because you were always the odd one, you were always the one in those questions. The questions on a visual test that asked you which item did not belong (you were the nail in a group of fruits). You felt like you'd been punched in the gut.

"Did you forget your first name, Puckett, or were you too busy dreaming about a hobo in a bikini?" Freddie asked, snapping you back into reality. He had been calling your name for the past few minutes, but you were too drowned in your thoughts to notice.

You quickly shook your head, shaking the thoughts out of your head along with the gesture. "No, no, that's probably what you'd dream about, Benson -- you're so desperate that you'd date anybody."

"How very clever, Puckett."

You rolled your eyes, and looked up at the two, Carly and Freddie standing closer then usual to each other. "So what did you want, Fredward?"

"Oh, good, we're on a first name basis now." Freddie proclaimed, smiling. "Well Sam, I was just going to ask you if you wanted to go out for ice cream too."

You didn't want to leave them alone to their own likings, I mean, what _could _they do when you weren't there? You didn't want to give them a chance (rather selfishly, you might admit) but then again, you weren't a nice, perfect person, you were just Sam, a bad, insensitive person that fell for a nub way harder then expected. "Sure." You agreed, much to Carly's chagrin (although she tried to be subtle and failed -- you just knew her way too well).

---

You were in his room again that night, he had raised his eyebrow at you at first, but then welcomed you. "Things are too complicated at home." You told him, feeling a little insecure. He nodded at you, shutting off the radio that was on, and slipping down the covers for you to get into. You hesitated for a moment, but then slid in with him again. He wrapped his arms around you, the oh-so-familiar warmth and protection you yearned for since the night before.

The both of you laid there for a while, listening to the steady breathing of each other. "Hey, Freddie?"

"Hmm?" You adjusted yourself so you were laying comfortably on his chest, facing him.

"Does this feel wrong to you?"

He stiffened, although he didn't let go of you, his breathing rhythm changed, he was holding up his guard, you could tell. "What do you mean, Sam?"

"I mean..." You began, struggling to find the right words to express how you felt. You were never really an open book, you didn't let people understand you or know your feelings, but at that point in time, you wanted to open up to him. "Carly's fallen for you."

"I know." He sighed, sounding disappointed. You were extremely confused at his tone.

"What's with the sadness?" You asked, clearly puzzled at him, you leaned in closer to him, pressing your face against his chest and breathing in his heavenly scent. He heaved a large breath and put on his thinking face, as if he was trying to explain something complicated like the Quantum Field Theory to a five-year-old. A silence passed between the both of you as he began to work out the words in his head. "Well?" You pushed, impatiently.

"If... she had... well..." Freddie stuttered, and you gripped his thin shirt, expectantly. He sighed, frustratingly. "If she had told me she was in love with me, three years ago, when we were all fourteen, it probably would be... different."

"So, what, are you _not_ in love with Carly anymore?" You questioned, perplexed at the complexity of the situation.

"Well, if you put it that way, no." He said, in an odd tone that you hadn't heard before.

You slapped him lightly on the arm. "Be serious, Freddachucks."

He tilted your head up so your eyes could meet his -- you gasped at how his eyes seemed dead serious. "I _am_."

And you realized that you had it all wrong the whole time. You should've realized it before, you, Sam Puckett, were _always_ wrong (even though you always insisted you were right).

He had realized the consequences when he leaned in to kiss you (he didn't have to lean very far, considering you were merely inches away). You realized it was _so_ wrong to be doing this behind Carly's back, but you couldn't help yourself, it felt _so_ perfect the way his soft warm lips molded into yours. It was a slow kiss, almost too slow, you tried to memorize every single ounce of what you were feeling that night, the way how his kisses made you want more, the way your body felt as if it was on fire, warm, nervous. The sweetness of his lips that you hadn't noticed the first time you kissed him, addicting, making you yearn for more. Slowly, like a movie in slow-motion, he pulled away, and opened his eyes, brown meeting blue (like a twisted symphony once again), and it made you wonder.

How could something so wrong feel so right?

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_Have an AMAZING Thanksgiving, y'all! :D_

_Love, May._


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